Fractured Realities
by fermica
Summary: Unforeseen events, which take place directly after his armies retake Hogwarts, throw Harry Potter into a new reality, one dominated by a dystopia a million years in the making...
1. Tear

**Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter. If I claimed to, I would be summoned from this reality.  
**

 **A/N: Tired of the cookie-cutter reality travel fic? Your favorite ones on hiatus or abandoned? Bored? Wondering why I'm trying to sell this after you've already clicked on the link? Read this original take on reality travel instead! (The beginning is pretty tropy, but that's necessary.)  
**

There comes a time when you realize just how insignificant your life has been. Whether you win or lose, accomplish your life goals or not, death has a certainty and absoluteness to it which frightens even the bravest soul. Albus Dumbledore, perhaps, might feel no fear at his death. But I am not him. I suppose that I should unequivocally state before my death that I am Harry Potter, servant of none.

There comes a time when you wish you left a larger mark on the world. Made a difference. I thought I did, but really I didn't.

So I am reduced to writing this drivel to while away the hours. Drivel nobody will ever read. Perhaps I should explain how I find myself in this predicament, anticipating my inevitable demise.

There is no specific origin, no precise date to prescribe to when these events all began. They are on an unimaginable scale, as well as incomparable to any relevant dates that you might be aware of.

But for me in particular, it was June 24th, 2004 when I was first pulled into the fray. The end of the war. Victory Day.

 **~~Fractured Realities~~**

It was over. All I could do was sigh in relief, rejoicing in the fact that my long-time nemesis, Lord Voldemort, was dead. It had been thirteen long years since I first met my parents' murderer. Around me my fellow freedom fighters, members of the ravaged Order of the Phoenix and the heroes of Dumbledore's Army, let out a cheer as the infamous dark wizard fell to the floor. There was still much work to do: Death Eaters to be rounded up, family to be mourned, and a Ministry to be retaken. But the brunt of the work had been finished here at Hogwarts. The late Tom Riddle had been the unifying factor of the purist regime, a symbol of power and fear which effectively pacified the masses.

But that reign of terror had passed. Four Horcruxes my team had destroyed: a locket, a cup, a diadem, a snake. Neville had proven himself to be a true Gryffindor when he executed Nagini just moments before the final duel.

With Voldemort's death, the rest of the Death Eaters at Hogwarts either fell or surrendered with ease. At last, I foolishly allowed myself to believe. At last I could lead the life I wanted to lead, not one born of necessity and duty but one shaped by my own desires. But fickle Fate, as always, had different plans. I just had yet to see them.

The first sign of anything wrong was a slight tugging in my gut as I embraced Hermione and Ron. I dismissed it, of course, as the product of one of the myriad of injuries I had sustained. I would get Madame Pomfrey to check it out later, I reasoned.

"It's over. It's over," sobbed Lavender Brown on the floor of the Great Hall. Below her lay the gored body of Fenrir Greyback, the very same werewolf who had mauled her almost six years ago. Seeing her tormentor dead gave her a sort of completion.

I turned my gaze, trying to find less depressing sights, but there were none to be found. All around, death and destruction made itself evident in the aftermath of the battle. The rest of the Weasleys sat at the old Gryffindor table; of the original nine, only Ron, Percy, and Arthur had survived.

The rest of Gryffindor house had been decimated, too. Looking around, I could only make out Oliver Wood, Parvati Patil, Dean Thomas, and the battered face of my faithful ally, Neville Longbottom. Countless others, undoubtedly, were holed up in hideouts or had fled the country. They would have to be coaxed back into society once order was established. Ravenclaw, Hufflepuff, and even Slytherin presented sights just as sorry as the first. I met the cool eyes of Astoria Greengrass, and flinched. She was a reluctant ally at best, especially after I killed the other three members of her family. She never forgave me for the cost of war. I never really forgave myself, either.

I made my way to the makeshift hospital area that Madam Pomfrey had set up after the Hospital Wing collapsed, unwilling to see any more solemn faces, any more potential sources of guilt. Neville intercepted me first. The pain in my gut intensified - perhaps it was just my body reminding me of my own guilt.

"Good job, Harry," he greeted, clapping me on the back. "We've weathered the storm." He had grown a lot from the timid boy on the train who had lost his toad and from the boy who had fallen off his broom and had lost his Remembrall to Malfoy. In fact, Neville was the one who finally took out the bastard, with a precision shot from a broom. But right now he sounded much more optimistic than me, despite his hardened view of the war.

"It's not really over, though. We have to retake the Ministry, set up a viable government, and finally stamp out blood prejudice. Will that aspect of the war ever really cease? Such bias will always exist, and then our children and our children's children will fight this same battle. Sans the Horcruxes, luckily." Indeed, Dumbledore had stamped out any mention of that particular subject.

He regarded me seriously. "Then we keep fighting. That's what we've done our whole lives, and will continue to do so for the rest, if we have to. We believe in our cause, they believe in theirs. But what separates them from us, Harry, is that we endure. We will never give up. They hide in the shadows and bide their time. They switch loyalties on whims, based on survival. And men like Voldemort, they have no loyalty. Not to a person, not to a cause. We do. And we believe in freedom and equality, for all humans, regardless of magical ability. We value not magic and heritage, but rational thought, courage, and willpower."

That was what I always needed, what the fighters always needed when the going got tough. Neville was eloquent in a way that I was not, and could voice our beliefs, hopes, and dreams.

"I just want a future," I confided for what felt like the thousandth time. "No fate, no responsibilities except the ones I choose."

"Don't we all, Harry? That's what everyone who fought wished for." The unspoken _especially the ones who died_ is noticeable, too palpable, and I felt the sudden urge to vomit, remembering how Ginny had fallen. We had broken up, but she still dreamed of a future together, one struck down by the iridescent green of Dolohov's Killing Curse. Astoria, of all people, had later strangled him to death. "For the Weasleys," she had said. Because nobody should have to lose a loved sister and precious sibling. Those words had been rather pointed.

I suddenly doubled over in pain, feeling strings pulling my intestines apart. And my scar began burning, unbearably. I clutched it tightly, but the feeling did not go away; if anything, it burned worse.

"Are you okay?" asked Neville. But we both knew that I likely wasn't. Some last-ditch trick of Voldemort's - perhaps he wasn't as arrogant as we had thought. Others were rushing over now.

"It's probably Voldemort's doing," I gritted out. I could now feel the burning throughout my body, and faintly registered Neville grasping me, unwilling to let me fall.

Suddenly I felt like laughing. I went all this way only to be killed by my own arrogance, by our collective faith in our character analysis of Voldemort? "Everything seems so futile now," I whispered, the entire crowd hanging on my words as Neville continued to hold me up.

"We defeated Voldemort," insisted Neville. "We saved the Muggleborns. It wasn't all in vain."

Wise words came to me, as if I was inspired by my slow death. "Yes," I rasped, "but my personal battle... it was in vain. We both died. There was never meant to be a winner between the two of us, was there? What did we ever do but stumble around and destroy things? Whatever did we do?"

"You are the hero of this story," continued Neville. "We will always remember you." A murmur of agreement rose from behind him.

I couldn't help but let out a chuckle. "Harry Potter, Savior of the Magical World. The Boy-Who-Died."

"No. The Man-Who-Won."

"I hardly won. I got him. He got me. How poetically dual," I laughed.

He had no time to respond to my statement, because the world dissolved into a deep magenta, and I spun around as if in a Portkey. Ice replaced the scorching heat from before. Around and around I went, until I was unceremoniously deposited on a stone floor. I regained control of my motor functions, and managed to get out a pitiful "But magenta's not a color" - courtesy of second-year Hermione, before my vision turned a solid black.

 **~~Fractured Realities~~**

"He looks like James, doesn't he?"

"A little. But those green eyes..."

"Could he be?..."

I drifted back into unconsciousness.

 **~~Fractured Realities~~**

I woke again to Dumbledore's kindly blue eyes. I gasped. "Professor Dumbledore... am I - am I dead?"

"I am indeed Albus Dumbledore. And you are?" the old man asked, smiling.

"You don't - you don't know me?" I stuttered out, my lungs still feeling the after effects of my ride.

"I'm afraid I do not," the man confirmed. People swam in and out of focus on the periphery of my vision as I attempted to gain my bearings.

"I - I'm Harry Potter." Gasps echoed around the room, which, I groggily noted, was very similar to the Great Hall. I managed to rise from the ground.

"Indeed." Dumbledore closed his eyes, sighing. "Harry, we need your help to fight a great evil that has ravaged this world."

" _This_ world?" I asked.

"We seek your aid," he continued, "in hopes of defeating once and for all Tom Marvolo Riddle."

"Is this some sort of joke?"

"Just tell him!" exclaimed someone who I could not place in my disorientation.

He pressed his fingers together, looking incredibly weary. "Harry, to be blunt, you are in another reality. The fight against Voldemort has taken its toll on the best of our society. I wish it were not the case that I would ever have to ask this of you, but: will you help an old man right his wrongs?"

I gaped, imitating a fish. I had just begun to recover from the side-effects, of apparently magenta-colored dimensional travel. Then the old bastard drops this on me. "I just defeated my own Voldemort, right before you _summoned_ me. Away from my friends."

Dumbledore's face was grave. "We need to be able to strike at the root of evil, to counter Tom's knowledge of vile magics and power with our own information. During ten long years of folly I believed I could go it alone without a child of prophecy. The information you possess is the last bastion of defense for our cause, and we require your assistance. Only then, I believe, can we stop the inevitable victory of the dark. If he is unchecked, I fear Tom may consume the entire world in his fury."

"First, answer my question: How is dimension travel even possible?"

"We found a ritual tome in a tomb in Egypt which gave us a ritual to summon a hero to our dimension with the skills to help us defeat Voldemort," spoke up a man in the back of the room.

I looked at the speaker and my breath caught in my throat. There stood a couple, one a handsome man with messy black hair and the other a woman with long red hair and emerald green eyes. Lily and James Potter.

"Please, Harry," James' voice caught for a second, "we need your help."

They summoned me from my dimension where I was perfectly happy and had just begun to sort out my life's problems, like Voldemort. But no, this just _had_ to happen. Yet, I couldn't deny my alternate-dimensional parents' pleas. Having never really known my actual parents, I didn't want to screw up any potential relationship with them, if I was going to be stuck here. "Okay," I agreed, "but then you'll send me back, after you have the information."

The whispers in the hall among other Order members who I recognized - many of them were dead in my own reality - ceased. "Harry," started Dumbledore, "we may well need your help to fight Tom himself. When he has truly departed from the mortal world - then, we can make arrangements to send you back."

"Why can't I just tell you all I know? Why not send me back after that?"

"Very well," he gestured. "Tell us what we need to know."

"Okay," I decided. After all, this was a world in need. As angry as I was, I certainly wouldn't be Harry Potter if I didn't feel the need to help them. "I'll do it. But the moment I finish the tale of me and the snake-faced bastard, you're sending me straight back home. Preferably to a time right after you summoned me. You can do this, right? You can point to a ritual in your tome, right now, that'll return me to my reality."

Dumbledore removed his spectacles and rubbed his eyes, then looked down.

"What?" I asked. "What aren't you telling me?"

"Sometimes, Harry, there are questions that should not be answered, just as there are fields of magic too dangerous to delve into and fates that are much worse than death. It is better, sometimes, to choose not to shoulder all the responsibility you believe you deserve, lest it prove too much. Perhaps it would be better to focus on the task at hand and defeat the greater foe before focusing on minutiae."

"Tell me," I demanded. "Tell me, damn it!"

He looked around, gauging the room before replying. "Harry, we don't have a way to send you back. You'll stay a resident of this dimension, provided nobody else summons you from here."

"WHAT?" I burst out, unable to take the revelation. The air around me crackled, my accidental magic reactivating after long years of disuse. I attempted to calm myself before speaking again. "You summoned me here, knowing that you couldn't send me back, knowing you were irrevocably tearing me from a life that with all probability I enjoyed?"

Dumbledore sighed. "Harry, the entire fate of our world is at stake - please, if you have mercy, help us. Then, when it is all over, we can revisit this conversation. Perhaps in the months ahead you will find new meaning within this reality, and form deeper bonds with the people here. Rashly destroying all hope of reconciliation is unwise, Harry. Lashing out at us will not bring you any closer to your original dimension."

"Can't you reverse the ritual or something?" I angrily demanded. "Well? Figure something out!" I barked.

"If we were to reverse the ritual, Harry, then the most likely outcome would be that magic would attempt to banish you towards several highly similar dimensions. There is simply no way to precisely specify your original dimension among the many, perhaps infinite, possibilities. You would be torn into metaphysical pieces, a fate likely worse than death. I know you are angry, Harry, but help us, for the good of our world."

"Is that how you justify your actions? That they're for some arbitrary notion of the 'Greater Good?'" At this point, I was more than a little pissed. I planned to help them anyways, sure, but I wanted to vent my anger somewhere before I began to do so. Dumbledore was a convenient target, especially since my dimension's Dumbledore made so many mistakes. Too many mistakes. He didn't live up to my ideal of him as the perfect man, and I hated him for it. Well, it wasn't exactly full-blown hate, but I never managed to reconcile my old image of a wise and fully benevolent old wizard with the actual human being he was. Nor did I get to converse with his portrait and put old demons to rest, because _yet another Dumbledore_ decided that I could solve his problems.

Dumbledore grew stern. "Comparing me to Grindelwald will not gain you anything, Harry."

"But you were friends with him, weren't you?" He screws with me, I screw with him. People in the background gasped.

He paused for a fraction of a second. Then he looked incredibly tired, as he admitted, "I was. In the folly of my childhood, I was acquainted with him - became friends with him."

"And yet you use those very same ideals you cultivated as a child with him to justify bringing me here. What would Ariana say?" I continued to accuse.

Again a pause, before he sadly responded, "Ariana's death was an accident, Harry. Bringing up the demons of my past will not help this situation."

My eyes narrowed. "The Dumbledore _I_ knew would've felt regret, rather than brushing it off, I think. I never actually got the chance to ask him. And the Dumbledore and Order of the Phoenix _I_ knew would never ruin a man's life like you did mine."

"These are desperate times, Harry. And I implore you -"

"So, I ask you," I continued, raising my voice to drown out his, as well as the rising mutters in the background, "who really _are_ you, and what do you want from me?"

"Harry, we want you to help us win the war. Just tell us what we need to know, and we'll leave you alone."

"No." By now I was convinced that something suspicious was afoot. Dumbledore's unnatural pauses from earlier came to my mind as evidence of this fact. And while he pretended to be kind, I was starting to see through the mask. I curled my fingers around my wand, which was still in my pocket, and brought it up to his face. More gasps.

"Who are you, and what have you done with Albus Dumbledore?" I demanded.

As if on cue, everyone in the room collapsed like marionette dolls with cut strings and the doors to the Great Hall swung open. My wand went flying out of my hand. I swiveled around as a tall figure entered, shrouded in dark robes, and began to slowly clap.

"Bravo, Harry Potter. Bravo," came the cold, high voice. "Not many have seen through my illusion." Voldemort.

All of a sudden I felt exposed, realizing that during the last who knows how long I had actually been at the mercy of my enemy. "What do you want of me, Voldemort?"

He chuckled menacingly. "Please, Harry - can I call you Harry? - call me Tom. After all, we know each other better than the closest friends... and the most passionate lovers." I was eerily reminded of a resurrection ritual some ten years ago. I could almost feel the cold caress of the newly risen Dark Lord on my cheek. He smiled, as if he knew what I was thinking.

His first words also immediately put me on guard. This was _definitely_ not the Voldemort I had faced and defeated. He would have despised being called Tom, his pathological hatred of all things Muggle clouding all rationality.

"All I want is to ask you some questions, out of professional interest, nothing more. Questions about your reality's timeline. It would have been much simpler had you not seen through the illusion, but this is of little consequence."

"I'll never tell you anything!"

He clicked his tongue. "Harry, Harry, every time I meet you, you're the same... Defiant. Yet, I _always_ get the answers out of you by the end."

My blood ran cold. He had done this before, summoned different versions of me. And all of them had broken under his torture, or worse. That, of course, was assuming that he spoke the truth. "You're lying. You'll never break me!"

This time he laughed. "How foolishly naïve of you." Red flashed all around me, and the world once again turned black.

 **~~Fractured Realities~~**

I again woke on the floor, this time naked. Looking around, I could tell that I was in a prison cell. Its dimensions were barely large enough to accommodate me, and I huddled on the floor, shivering.

Voldemort was trying to break me by depriving me of human contact, but it wouldn't work. I would _not_ give in. There I stayed, for what must have been hours, before a voice rang out.

"I see you have gotten used to your new living space."

"I still won't tell you anything, Voldemort. You may torture me to the day I die, you may enter my mind as many times as you want, but you _will not win_."

"Reassure yourself in your delusions then, and take pride in being the savior of your own world, comforting yourself that you will die a martyr before telling me what I wish to know." He paused.

"Did you know, Harry, that you could not even save your own world?"

"Of course I saved my world. I defeated _you_."

"You destroyed that Dark Lord's Horcruxes, kudos to you." I stiffened. He knew that I knew about the Horcruxes...

"But you missed one, my friend, your famous scar." He laughed. "You do not believe me, Harry Potter? Why else would the Killing Curse leave a mark? If your mother blocked it with her _love_ ," he sneered, "then why would it leave a mark at all? Your Dumbledore lied to you, Harry. Your scar was a Horcrux, accidentally created by your version of me, his last anchor to reality. You were supposed to _nobly_ sacrifice yourself, you were supposed to die. I will not lie to you, then you were supposed to resurrect. Dumbledore would give you his little speech about you being a good little brave martyr, and then would send you back to defeat me. If you had truly done all of this, Harry, your scar would have faded. Countless Harry Potters have shared the same story."

I grew horrified as I realized the truth in his words. My scar _was_ special, wasn't it? And Dumbledore always skirted around the issue of the Prophecy, preferring not to discuss it with me. That was because he knew the truth, and did not want to burden me with it.

That must've been what the useless Golden Snitch he gave me was for. ' _I open at the close,_ ' it read. Before my death it should have opened to me, told me some truth that Dumbledore wanted me to know. I still had it on me when I took an unplanned trip through realities.

"You are a fool, Harry Potter," he hissed, "a fool who has condemned his friends to death. Your situation is hopeless, and eventually, you will give in."

"So that's your grand strategy? No torture, or anything, just repeatedly telling me how hopeless this all is? No mental invasion, no fierce duel of wills?"

"There was a time when I was foolish enough to attempt Legilimency on a Harry Potter. It worked well for years until came a Harry Potter who withstood my mental onslaught. He surprised me and got the better of me, I will freely admit." Lord Voldemort, admitting his mistakes? No way. "But that is of no matter. I have learned from the mistakes of perhaps millions of other versions of me. And you shall submit to me, in time."

Voldemort had summoned millions of me, interrogated them for information, and then disposed of them? "You're just trying to scare me," I said, appearing more confident that I felt. I could feel the truth in his words. He had a commanding presence, even in voice, a presence that whispered to me that I was nothing and insignificant to his power.

"I assure you I am not, Harry Potter. How old do you think I am? A hundred years, a thousand years? No. I am millions of years old, I have learned indirectly from the best and worst Dark Lords ever to exist or be conceived of. I am immortal... unstoppable... patient. It may take time, but I can wait. I have had millennia of practice."

"If you've lived for millions of years, Tom," I wondered, "then why aren't you more powerful? You're scared of invading my mind, you had your lackeys stun me from behind in the Great Hall, you tried using Dumbledore and my parents' faces to trick me into revealing information," I continued, trying to goad him. "You're no stronger than any normal wizard."

This, finally, ticked him off. "I am superior to any _common_ wizard. I am immortal, am I not? My answer to you, Harry, is that there are limits to magic, as unfortunate as it is, limits near which I lay. I see that conversation with you will not prove fruitful."

He left me to my thoughts, which already were taking a darker turn. If what he said is true, what hope did insignificant _me_ have against him? What was my defiance but a petty struggle in the large scheme of things?

I drifted off into blissful sleep on the cold metal floor.


	2. Dichotomize

**Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter. If I claimed to, Voldemort would lock me in a cell.**

The creak of my cell door wakened me. I stiffened. Who had entered? Had Voldemort finally sent someone to torture and kill me? I glanced up, but no people entered the now ajar cell door. Perhaps someone had decided to help me. Voldemort couldn't micromanage all of his minions, could he?

I walked over to the door and looked out into the adjacent room. I couldn't believe my eyes; there, neatly piled on a table, were my clothes, Snitch, and wand. I dressed myself quickly and pressed the Snitch to my mouth, but it only repeated its cryptic inscription. _Dammit, Dumbledore._

This was an incredible stroke of luck. Maybe Voldemort had other versions of me captive. He said he was incredibly patient; why not wear down many Harry Potters at the same time? If I could release them, then perhaps we could attempt some sort of resistance. Perhaps my mysterious benefactor would aid me once more.

I opened the door leading out of the room, wand at the ready. In the next room was a figure in full body black armor with its back to me. It whirled as the door creaked.

" _Stupefy._ " I attempted a low-powered spell first, and the figure made no move to dodge as it counterattacked. I jumped to the side to avoid a sickly yellow curse, and watched my spell impact a glowing golden shield which materialized around the figure. A darkened visor covered his face, and the soldier wore a black belt with a strange device and a pouch attached to it. Just who were these people? They looked like no Death Eater I remembered from my dimension. At least they didn't seem to want me dead, as per Voldemort's orders. Else they would be throwing around Killing Curses like there's no tomorrow.

I snapped off an overpowered Piercer, hoping that it could breach the magical shield which surrounded my adversary. No such luck. The shield flared again, although a little dimmer. In the meantime, my opponent drew from his pouch and threw a small metallic object at me. I recognized it from one of Dudley's old games.

" _Praemonio!_ " I put up a strong shield, hoping to ward off the inevitable blast of the grenade. Instead, it emitted a blinding flash of white light, leaving me disoriented. _Shit._

Knowing I only had a fraction of a second before the figure downed me with a spell, I blindly turned my wand to where I heard a slight clank of armor shifting.

" _Avada Kedavra! Avada Kedavra!_ " I fired twice in succession, simultaneously pushing myself to the right, hoping that the enemy's curse had missed me and that one of my Killing Curses had struck true. As loath as I was to use it, the curse was likely the only thing that could easily breach the shield, unless I slowly wore it down.

A dull thud answered my prayer to Merlin. I laid there for a bit, blinking the stars out of my eyes, before getting up and surveying the now dead follower of Voldemort.

I stripped off my clothes and donned his armor. Then I pried off his helmet and visor and stared in shock into two stunning emerald green eyes. I staggered back, reeling.

 _Harry Potter._ He was me.

This was bad news. Harry Potters before me had finally sworn fealty to Voldemort? They were aiding him, our ultimate enemy? I felt dizzy, and sat down. Perhaps Voldemort was correct in saying that someday I would yield.

No. I would not permit it. I rose with a new sense of urgency. Guards could be here any minute.

After all, the modern feel of the cell block and the futuristic armor and visor implied that Voldemort wasn't wallowing in the Dark Ages. He was cunning, and had adapted Muggle technology to his needs. That's where the flash grenade had come from. Furthermore, it was entirely possible that guards (I tried not to think 'other Harry Potters') had already been alerted of this man's death, considering all the hidden security cameras of the modern Muggle world. I needed to get moving. But first, I opened the pouch on his belt and reached inside. It felt much bigger on the inside, and was filled with more grenades. I placed his wand on the inside; it was eleven inches, made of holly, and presumably contained a phoenix feather. I felt sick. Then I put on the helmet. It enveloped me in darkness, and then lights began to flash on the right of its screen. It asked for a login and a password.

I threw it off in disgust, and stripped off the armor. Without being able to wear the visor, the armor was useless, only making me stand out more; on the other hand, there were, in all likelihood, Harry Potters in this society without armor. I changed out of my clothes, too, and into his, after I removed them from his body. I took the belt from his armor, though, hiding it under the long shirt on top.

I exited the room into a long and wide hallway. Large, white strips of light dominated the flat ceiling, and cameras were perched above doors, every couple hundred meters down. The situation was getting worse and worse; Voldemort could likely follow my progress on the cameras, dispatching men to deal with me and put me back into my prison. Mercifully, my predicament was answered not a second later. A loud bell rang throughout the facility, and a voice announced, "First lunch ending."

If people were just leaving lunch, perhaps I could get lost in the rush. A long shot, but worth a try, but it would only work if others wore similar shirts. But first I had to check the other doors and see if other versions of me were also imprisoned here. I rushed over to the other side of the hallway and opened the door, almost hoping to see another of the armored guards, but instead it was just a room full of food supplies: wheat, corn, some wizarding foods I recognized, as well as many strange plants that I didn't. Checking other rooms around the one leading to my former cell, I found that they were either similar or empty.

Voldemort didn't keep prisoners together. Smart. I exited the room I was checking, just in time to see six armored men turn the corner into the hallway. They drew their wands. I had no armor, I was outnumbered, and they would likely overpower me before I could peg even one of them with a Killing Curse.

I turned and ran in the opposite direction, hoping that they wouldn't actually want to kill me either, for fear of incurring Voldemort's wrath. And I hoped that the shield generator device on the belt worked.

Spells rushed past me as I sprinted down the long corridor, looking for anything but a dead-end. Only more doors, though, appeared on the sides of the hallway, doors that undoubtedly led to rooms like the storage cell from earlier. Getting trapped in one of those would mean the end of my bid for freedom.

I sent a Killing Curse back at them, and risked a glance. It flew wide over their heads, and they gained a couple paces on me.

The golden shield flared around me every once in a while, but slowly weakened as more and more spells impacted. They were getting closer, and my shield was dying.

My legs began to tire, the lack of food for Merlin knows how long finally overtaking my adrenaline. Maybe I should have stopped to eat something, but urgency had outweighed common sense. And it was justified, too; I had just checked the other rooms before the guards sighted me. Abandoning the armor, on the other hand, was a perfectly good choice; the extra weight meant that I likely already would have been captured. The shield would have to suffice.

Finally, fortune smiled down upon me. Another, smaller hallway intersected the one we were on. I risked another backwards spell.

" _Glisseo!_ "

Two guards slipped, crashing to the ground behind me as they lost their balance on the smoothened floor. I took the chance and rushed to the side, and four curses clipped my side as the other guards anticipated my move. The golden shield flared up again at the first two, crackled as the third impacted it, and then exploded all around me, propelling me along the side hall and away from my pursuers. I staggered to my feet and turned down another convenient hallway, attempting to lose them.

 **~~Fractured Realities~~**

What could be considered my third miracle of the day (perhaps it was night. I had no idea which was which, stuck in this metal facility with only artificial lighting) occurred when another bell rang and announced the beginning of the second lunch shift. Soon I could hear the thundering of footsteps, all headed toward whatever dining hall they had. I followed the sound, and then I paused when I caught first sight of the mass of similarly clothed Harry Potters bustling down a cramped hallway.

Quickly repairing my dress from the results of the explosion, I headed down the side hall I was in and nonchalantly turned the corner into the river of myself. We were so packed in there that undoubtedly Voldemort's men had lost me, at least until all these people departed from their lunch. Then I would stand out and would be a sitting duck for all of Voldemort's guards.

The torrent continued into a grand hall, likely ten times the size of Hogwarts' Great Hall, packed full of tables already filled with platters of food. My stomach grumbled. Getting a little food wouldn't hurt.

In my single-minded fixation on the promise of food, though, I accidentally stumbled right into someone. I stepped back, mumbling an apology.

"Hi." The alternate version of me smiled genially. "My name's Harry Potter." He squinted. "I don't recognize you. You new here?" He grinned.

I forced out a laugh. "I'm Harry Potter as well. Nice to meet you." I stuck out my hand, hoping he'd shake it and then leave.

No such luck. "So, in actuality, are you new here?"

"Yeah," I responded, my smile betraying none of my fear at being outed.

"Then, Harry - can I call you Harry? - come and sit with me." There was really no way I could deny him, and so I reluctantly followed him to a table in the corner. The moment I sat down, I eagerly began piling food onto the plate. I might as well make the most of this.

Harry chuckled. "The food's always great. So how's servitude to good old Voldie treating you?"

I glanced around nervously. He noticed, and was quick to assuage my apprehensions. "He doesn't care, you know. You're new and wouldn't know, but over the thousands of years I've been here nobody's ever got in trouble for it."

I spat out the piece of chicken that I was chewing. "Thousands of years?!"

He smiled. "I don't look it, do I? Knowing that you'll be practically immortal seems all well and good when you swear your oaths to the master, but it really starts to sink in after year three hundred."

I nodded, pretending to understand what he said. He believed that I was one of the many Voldemort lackeys here. I drew two things from his statement: Voldemort promised some form of immortality to his followers, perhaps similar to the Elixir of Life, and all followers of Voldemort swore oaths to him. Then how would someone have let me out of my cell and made sure I had all my stuff? Perhaps they found a way around the oaths, but considering how intelligent this Voldemort was, I doubted it. Chance alone got me to this point, somehow managing to best the first guards and melting into the crowd of my alternate selves. But certainly Voldemort did not have the time to micromanage every single one of his servants. If he truly was a million years old, based on the fact that his servants were immortal he'd have servants of varying ages, and at least twelve million or so, assuming that he could summon one of me every month. Thus, what I'd explored until that point was only a small fraction of the true size; the place probably was at least the size of a small country, maybe larger, considering magic. This was one dining hall of many thousands.

Harry had continued to talk while I was thinking. "...of course, it's a great honor to be part of the elite R&D facility of the world - absolutely stunning stuff we make there." I perked up immediately. "What do you develop?"

"I design rituals," he admitted. "Alternate reality stuff. In particular, I'm part of one of the many teams there trying to overcome the pan-dimensional barrier."

"Many teams? I thought you guys were just one concerted effort," I queried. Perhaps this would be my ticket out.

"Competition encourages progress. Not only that, a concerted effort would have so many redundant people and conflicts. Instead, each possible idea gets its own team. When we think we developed a viable option, Voldemort himself carries out the ritual, sending a selected individual to another dimension. If it goes right, they're supposed to summon someone else, a pre-selected person, from this dimension to there to confirm. Then they'll make their way home."

"Why do you need to occupy the time of Voldemort himself? Can't your team just execute it themselves?" I was highly interested in this as well, since it concerned what this powerful dictator actually did with his time.

He grimaced. "We're _allowed_ to try, but it generally ends in the death of everyone performing the ritual. When he does it, he checks all the calculations and carries it out. He's immortal in every sense of the word, not just relying on the Elixir of Life to exist. There's much less danger if he does it, considering the magic required."

"And if it works? This civilization - we expand to other realities, conquering as we go?" I was more than intrigued by what Voldemort wanted to do - this was why he had such good guards. Prisoners do not warrant such training, but potential warfare did. He'd be instantly ready to send an invading force to the dimension of his choosing. He nodded.

I just needed a little more information. "So why do the rituals fail, anyway? Too many dimensions to choose from?" I asked, recalling my conversation with 'Dumbledore.'

"Absolutely! It's refreshing to get a new recruit so smart. Indeed, there is an infinity of realities out there with every possible history. Latching onto one is our main problem. Currently, we believe that the ritual ends up obliterating the person's soul, sending them on a very quick one-way trip to the afterlife. But enough about me and my research. What have you been assigned to?"

I needed to get into wherever he was working, so I made something up. "I'm also in the R&D section, just in a different part than you." I hoped he wouldn't question it.

"I would expect no less of a bright young Harry Potter like you. By any chance, are you in the military technology section? I ask because of the pouch you wear - under your shirt, but nonetheless..."

We continued to converse as we ate. I made things up on the fly when he asked, surprised that he believed everything I was saying. He proved to be very enlightening, telling me all about the difficulties of telling apart identical million-uplets. ("It's the personality, you see. That's how I could tell you were a new convert...")

His jovial mood lightened me up, but underneath it all, I couldn't help thinking: How could such a great person not care that he's enslaved to Voldemort? Why did he join Tom Riddle in the first place? I would rather have chosen to die than further any of his causes, much less his agenda of conquering other realities. I had to ask.

"What do you think our friends and families would think of us, here?"

He swallowed his food and looked directly at me. After some seconds of silence, he spoke. "I don't know," he stated. "On the one hand, Voldemort is supposed to be this great evil - but this one isn't the one from my reality. He's not the one who caused so much death and pain to my friends, and this society is not a terrible one."

"I still am ashamed of giving in to him, of accepting immortality for service," he continued. "But what would it accomplish? Instead, I now study the intricacies of magic to my heart's content. I would like to think... that my family would be glad that I am happy."

I suddenly thought of the guard I killed right outside my cell, and felt the need to vomit out all of the food I had hastily consumed. That man probably also had a family, or friends, in his original reality. And here, he probably was friends with tons of Harry Potters, and now he was dead. Then I thought of this Harry Potter, satisfied with his lot in life. Who was I to judge?

I hope that, whenever his time might come, he'll have a peaceful death.

 **~~Fractured Realities~~**

We made our way out of the dining hall well before the bell rang, preferring to precede the masses in their migration. We were headed in the same direction, since I was 'in' the same area as he was.

The cavernous maze of halls felt very empty, and I surreptitiously glanced at every mounted camera. Each reminded me of my initial escape from the cell, and the despair when I realized that Voldemort was watching everywhere and everyone... Through luck, though, I managed to escape notice. Yet these steps could be my last. I was truly headed towards the belly of the beast.

Left, right, right, left... the continuous uniformity of these halls left me with no doubt that I would not be able to make my way back to any portion of the facility. Harry continued in his brisk pace, and I struggled to catch up, still a little tired from my ordeal.

"Why doesn't Voldemort summon more copies of himself?" I blurted randomly as the thought hit me.

"Well, the only inter-reality ritual we have can summon one's enemy. Thus, he can only summon Harry Potters. Nor can we summon Voldemorts, since our indenture to him implies that his enemy would be ours. And, besides, he's the only one with enough control to pull that off. Maybe the Dumbledores could pull it off," he snorted. "But he's too 'light' for that sort of thing."

We continued in silence.

Finally we arrived in front of thick metallic double-doors. They hissed open, revealing a metal room full of some sort of equipment with a keypad at the end. We walked in and the doors shut behind us and began to glow, before dimming again. They seemed to form a tight seal.

Harry put his hand on the screen and then punched in some numbers. He sighed. "It's always annoying getting through magical sterilization, isn't it? I always feel claustrophobic, since we're totally locked in here." He shuddered.

I simply nodded. Then, siphons emerged from machines on either side, and began sucking up a swirling kaleidoscope of color. Magic.

"The feeling of all the extra magical residue leaving your skin feels odd, even after some thousands of years," he said above the din. The pouch on my belt began to glow, and I realized, with a start, that its enchantments were unraveling.

"You shouldn't have tried to bring that back in here," he noted. "Heck, you shouldn't have decided to take it out. Your boss'll probably have an aneurysm over 'incompetence.' Never mind that it's an honest mistake."

"Yeah," I replied absentmindedly. I should've used those grenades earlier, when I was being chased down the hall. My hand fell down to the Snitch in my pocket. It remained closed. Had Dumbledore managed to make a locking enchantment resistant to almost anything? Likely.

"Hey, Harry," I began to ask, "In your original reality, did Dumbledore ever give you a Golden Snitch?"

He gave me an odd look. "What about it?"

"I was just wondering whether his locking enchantment would withstand this," I muttered. "I never figured out what was in the blasted thing."

"A Resurrection Stone," he answered. "You could see everyone you ever knew and loved who died again, recall their souls for a short amount of time. It's not really useful, though, and can only drive someone mad due to overuse. You were better off without it, actually."

"Oh." Seriously, Dumbledore? Give me a stone that might drive me crazy? It was the last Hallow, sure, but every dimension seemed to have a triple. Maybe the old man wanted me to be able to talk to my parents at least once. I felt a pang, remembering that my dimension's Voldemort was not dead. Summoning my parents to talk here would probably end with guilt and suffering. As if I wasn't suffering enough in this dystopia already.

Suddenly the siphoning stopped. Harry frowned. "What's the problem?" I asked.

"It shouldn't have stopped so soon. It's only halfway." He looked up. "But you already know that, having worked here, right?"

"Of course," I answered without hesitation. "I just got caught up in my thoughts."

"Because it says here that it was halted by the security mainframe, which also reports an escaped prisoner." He looked up at me, betrayal in his eyes. "You lied to me." _Shit._

I drew my wand hastily, and he matched me with fluidity and grace. He was no amateur duelist, I could already tell.

"So we meet again, Harry Potter," came the cold voice of my nemesis. _Shit, shit, shit._

"What do you want this time, Voldemort?" I asked, injecting as much false bravado into my words as possible. "Want me to foil another of your plots? Sure, why not?"

"There is no need to stall for time, Harry. We have - dare I say - all the time in the world, in this entire reality." Voldemort laughed. I didn't. "But know that you did not foil any of my plots," he continued. "All my servants are loyal to me. _I_ was the one who let you out of your cell. You made it past the guards, as I knew you would, and then I provided you the opportunity to explore this installation. What better way is there to know something than to experience it? And you know now that I spoke the truth when you were in my cell, that I am unstoppable in every aspect. I freely confess my surprise that I lost your trail when you slipped into the crowded hallway, but that is of no matter. You only made it easier for me with future Harry Potters... There is no escape from me, and now you will return to my custody."

"I said it before, Voldemort, and I'll say it again! I will never join you!"

"Your friend over there is living proof that this is not the case, Harry. He was one of the greatest versions of you I ever summoned, the strongest, the smartest, the fittest. He's _mine_ , now, Harry Potter, as you soon will be."

My heart dropped. I was in a standoff against a very capable enemy. "Potter!" he barked.

"Yes, Lord!" acknowledged Harry.

"Subdue him. Redeem your folly."

A pause. _Don't do it, don't do it, don't do it._ "It will be done, my Lord."

He had no choice. Neither did I. I stared straight back into his eyes and tried not to imagine his parents who were my parents, his family which was my family, his friends who were my friends. What would they think of all of this?

"This shall be fun to watch." I could imagine the snake-faced bastard rubbing his hands in glee.

" _Reducto!_ " I started, instead of waiting for my opponent to take the initiative. He simply sidestepped the curse, narrowly avoiding it and countering it. At least he had no shield.

" _Ignire fulgur!_ " I barely deciphered the Latin before the lightning came crackling toward me, and I hastily put up a shield. But it spread across the sides of the room, too, wrecking the delicate sterilization equipment, and arced toward me from all sides.

The shield was clearly ineffective.

...Didn't pure water absorb electricity?

I quickly waved my wand, canceling the shield, and summoned water from my wand-tip, willing it to flow all around me. Just in time, too, as the electricity met the shield of water around me. Gas bubbled upwards from within the shield, the intense energy of his spell causing a spontaneous reaction.

Finally the spell ceased, and I let the water drop, barely putting up another shield as he let loose a barrage of dark purplish curses. I jumped to the side as the shield failed, hoping to avoid the inevitable curse. Before I impacted the ground, I threw a curse back towards him, aiming for the untouched equipment behind him.

" _Incendio!_ " The small gout of flame flared up as it approached the center of the room, and then detonated. It battered me against the wall and I lay there, bruised. Another form lay still on the other side of the room; my opponent bore the brunt of the explosion. I sat up, propping myself against the wall.

"Effective, Harry Potter, very effective," came the sibilant tones of my true enemy. "You were lucky with the hydrogen explosion... but no more." There was a long pause, and nothing happened. Then Voldemort cursed. "When this is all over, Harry, remind me to add to your torture." Another pause.

This time, something did happen - six guns emerged from the far wall, and two more on the side walls. "I am surprised that you managed to beat yourself, and in doing so disabled the siphoning equipment. But I am not a inexperienced fool... I am the Dark Lord. I have contingencies for everything."

They began spewing molten material of some sort straight at me, so I snapped up a shield. As it impacted the bubble around me, it fell to the floor where I lay and began pooling up, applying stress to my already feeble defense.

"I thought you didn't want to kill me," I desperately stated.

"This will not kill you, Harry Potter, though you've been troublesome enough..."

The hot plasma had spread throughout the floor of the entire room, and was now level with my legs outside of my bubble of protection. Sparks danced across its surface every once in a while as the heightening pool consumed the broken wreckage of electrical equipment.

Perhaps...

I frantically tried to recall the spell Harry had used to produce the massive branches of lightning.

" _Ignire fulgur!_ " I cried as I dropped the shield. I jumped to my feet, and the lightning emerging from my wand held back the onslaught of the glowing substance. Electricity raced all around the pool, up the walls and up the stream emerging from Voldemort's guns. They exploded in a shower of sparks, and the wave of charge continued around the entire room, disabling once and for all every single bit of equipment in the room. My feet felt uncomfortably warm.

I jumped up on top of the partially destroyed siphon to my left, and the dangerous fluid quickly filled up the space I had left. I was stranded now, with nowhere to go.

Voldemort started cursing. "Damn you, Potter! You are lucky, I will grant you, and you will be one of my finest servants. But these games are over... my men are already on the way, and once they break into the room you shall be back under my control."

Indeed, I could hear very dull thuds on the outside of the room. Evidently this was stuck inside a very thick cocoon. "I have enough time to kill myself, Voldemort."

"But you will not," came the reply. "Not even when my men finally break into the room, hours later. Doing so now would be a _waste_ of the pathetic lives you killed," he sneered out. "You're a sentimental fool, Harry Potter."

I sat down on top of the siphon. "Now we can have the heart-to-heart I was waiting for since you stopped talking to me in the cell." He didn't deign to respond to my taunt. "In the end, Voldemort, I have won. I've bested your guards and security system, wrecked your equipment, and now am the master of my fate. You will never control me again."

"You may have won your little game, Potter, but I am more than that and above petty trivialities. Perhaps attempting to recapture you was a mistake. But it has been resolved, and I shall continue as I have for thousands upon thousands of centuries."

"Perhaps," I gritted out. "But you'll eventually slip up. Maybe you'll summon another Harry Potter, one even better than me and the rest. Somebody will come, find, and destroy every last fucking Horcrux of yours, and kill you as well. And I'll be laughing at you in heaven."

"Horcruxes?" Voldemort laughed derisively. "Oh no, my pitiful friend. I have no need of such weakness. I _am_ this reality, and it is me. And I have seen it all before and will see it all again. What hope, what chance does anyone have against that, Harry Potter?"

"You don't control everything, Tom. You never will. And someday, somewhere, somehow, you will meet your end. It doesn't matter what black magic you perform, it doesn't matter how many realities you bind your soul to. All men must meet their end. If mine is now, so be it. Yours, mark my words, shall come," I stated defiantly.

"I am no man anymore. I am a force of magic itself!"

"Yet you find yourself constrained by the laws of magic and physics. You are no better than the rest of us, Tom, and I pity you for your hubris."

"Don't delude yourself into thinking that you are more important than you are, Harry Potter. Your words mean nothing at this point. I, on the other hand, have a realistic view of my station."

I had no reply to that. But still, something irked me... "Why, Voldemort? Why would you summon all of us if we number in the millions? You don't seem to need us... and why did you want to know about how I defeated Voldemort? Your days of killing Harry Potters would be over, if you just stopped summoning us. What could be so - " My eyes widened. " _Your_ Harry Potter is still alive. Vanished. Maybe he was summoned away. Who knows what. But you _fear_ him - you fear the inevitable onslaught of fate. You attempt to summon him, so that you may find him out and then kill him - then, and only then, will you stop this madness."

"I tire of these games," he snarled. The room fell silent.

The oppressing confinement of the room was now more apparent than before, and I understood what Harry had meant when talking about his claustrophobia. I shuffled my feet around, making sure they didn't fall asleep, and reflected on the past day or so.

I had defeated Voldemort, and then was summoned into this reality. Neville and my friends thought me dead. Oh, and by the way, their Voldemort wasn't actually dead.

I had talked with 'Dumbledore' and Voldemort, and woke up in my cell. Then came more conversation, and then the Great Escape. Then came my first 'suicide.' I had somehow made my way through this behemoth of a facility and committed my second 'suicide' in this room, and somehow had survived a talented version of myself and Voldemort's high-tech guns. Now I was waiting for his men to finally crack the seals on the thick doors and let me out, before I killed myself.

What a tale. I had suffered through all this, and now was going to die. It was a waste, too.

I looked around, trying to occupy myself. Instead, my eyes could only focus on the partially submerged body of Harry. My anger swelled. He was a good man, but Voldemort had changed that. Forced us to be enemies.

I jumped across the tops of other now destroyed pieces of equipment, not caring about the possibility of slipping and falling. I reached his body, and lifted it up from the pool.

His pants had burned away in the liquid, but surprisingly, his skin was perfectly preserved. I put my hand on his chest, feeling the place above his heart. There was no beat, of course, but before I did that I could convince myself that he was still alive, that he was just unconscious due to the explosion. Now, if anything, my feeling of guilt grew.

I noticed something in his shirt pocket. I took the items out, a diary and a small pen clipped to its front. I carefully opened it, and took a look at it. It had daily recordings, including largely indecipherable descriptions of his actual work. I suddenly thought of the thousands of other diaries he likely kept wherever he lived. He had painstakingly worked on these, day in and day out, and I had come along and, for nothing - No. I couldn't keep thinking like that.

Struck by a whim, I flipped through and found the first blank page. It was marked July 31, 6174 After Arrival. So it was all of our birthdays in this reality, during his six-thousandth year or so. How ironic.

I looked around the room. There really was nothing better to do. I unclipped the pen, and began to write.

 _There comes a time when you realize just how insignificant your life has been. Whether you win or lose, accomplish your life goals or not, death has a certainty and absoluteness to it which frightens even the bravest soul..._

...Wherever you are, whenever you are, however you are, I believe in you, Harry Potter of this reality. You will never read this, but I hope and trust that you will be able to defeat this monstrosity. When you return to this world that has been unbalanced by fate and magic, you will restore the balance. I only wish that I could stay around to see poetic justice in action.


	3. Fracture

**Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter. If I claimed to, then... well, read the finale and find out.**

The sounds from outside my prison have grown quite a bit louder since I first started writing. I'm going to be stranded for at least another couple of hours. I shove my cramped hands into my pockets. My left hand brushes up against the Snitch.

I snort. It'll probably open now, but what's the point? I'll be dead and able to talk with my relatives anyway. But for some inexplicable reason, I draw it out of my pocket and press it to my lips. "I am going to die," I whisper.

It clicks open, and out falls a rough but plain stone with the symbol of the Deathly Hallows on it. It was the stone from Dumbledore's ring. I toss it three times.

Five ghostly figures appear: my parents, Sirius, Remus, and Dumbledore. I reach out to grasp my parents, but my fingers meet empty air. "We're so proud of you, Harry," says the ghostly image of my mother.

"Indeed." My father clears his throat. "You've done so well." They smile.

"I'll be with you soon," I reply, still grasping at their empty forms.

Sirius walks up and places his hand above my soldier. "I always knew you had it inside of you, Harry, to fight this hard."

"Don't blame yourself for the Voldemort of the previous reality," adds Remus. "He _is_ dead."

"But the scar," I protest.

"There is something I must tell you, Harry," Dumbledore states gravely. "A terrible truth that I wished not to reveal to you, still in the prime of your youth. A truth I hid away so that none would know of it, a truth that this Voldemort must never hear. I will admit, I am to blame for a number of things."

"You see," he continues, "in your previous reality, Voldemort went to Godric's Hollow, as you well know, and murdered your parents. Young Harry Potter too perished that night in the explosion of the backfired Killing Curse. What could I do, Harry? Voldemort was only temporarily set back, and he had marked you as his equal. You were dead. I decided to take prophecy into my own hands."

"What do you mean?" I ask, a feeling of dread rising up within me. "What did you do?"

"I made a mistake. It is easy for you to think of me as infallible, but then I was simply an old, tired man. I thought to replace the dead infant with an equal, one with the power to vanquish Voldemort as well. Balance would have been restored had I only been patient - the prophecy was already fulfilled, in a sense. I see that now. But in the desperation of that night I delved into magic best left undisturbed and summoned a replacement for the now dead Harry Potter. And, like a miracle, you appeared, a one and a half year old healthy young boy with a scar on his forehead. Recognizing the blood magic tied to your scar, I successfully managed to protect you by placing you with your alternate reality relatives. And it was a success, Harry."

"You performed a ritual that this Voldemort would kill billions for."

He smiles, melancholy. "But I am no Tom Riddle, Harry. I had hope and faith that it would work, and did this out of love for my world, however misguided. It was my intent, truly, that made it feasible."

"But in doing this," I whisper, "You unbalanced another reality. The imbalance warped and grew, and advanced millions of years in its own timeline before finally grabbing its own Harry Potter back."

"Yes." My mother steps forward. "We are your true parents, from this reality. And we are proud of you for helping another reality, and then being so brave as you struggle in your own."

"Correct my mistake, and fulfill your destiny," states Dumbledore. "Bring balance once more. And please, might I ask, help an old man right his wrongs."

"We will be with you," assure my parents. "Always."

The five figures vanish into the air, their purpose fulfilled.

The knocking on the outside has increased even more. I only have around an hour to get away. I might be able to penetrate the inner door and gain access to the facility within. If I can somehow trigger the controls that Harry was using earlier, I could get out of this room. The thought had crossed my mind, earlier, but that was in my depressed state, where I did not see the point of attempting to resist anymore. Besides, I could confer prophetic duty onto someone else back then. I cannot now. I can only face my fate.

I jump from island to island in the pool of plasma which still resides at the bottom of the room, before getting to the inner door controls.

Wires descend from them into the wall. With a quick cutting curse, I sever them from the machine and grab them with one hand. Then I try the first idea that comes to mind.

" _Ignire fulmen!_ " I try to reign back the lightning, directing it into the two wires. I hear a small thud from within the wall, perhaps caused by a miniature explosion or something of the sort.

Miraculously, the doors hiss open part-way, and the hot plasma begins to spill out. I see a long hallway, and the double doors of the Great Hall on the end. It is empty, and the doors on the sides of the hallway are closed. I smile. Voldemort probably hadn't expected me to be able to do this, especially after hours of silence.

I quickly jump out past the line of flowing molten liquid, my shoe sizzling a bit as its end touches the edge of the pool. The smell of burning rubber assaults my nose.

I quickly jog to the end of the hallway, alert to any possible traps or movement, and reach the two massive doors. This must be where Voldemort entered from when I first met him, and inside must be the room into which I was summoned. I take a deep breath, ready my wand, and then push the doors open.

Inside is Voldemort, facing away in the middle of a gigantic ritual circle full of arcane glowing symbols, runes from all sorts of languages. It extends all the way to up to where I stand. He turns around, evidently surprised.

The doors clang shut behind me, and I quickly lock them without turning my back to the enemy. I step into the massive circle as well.

"Harry Potter. You have, I acknowledge, surprised me."

"Voldemort. We meet again."

He narrows his eyes. "I underestimated your resolve and ingenuity, and overestimated some of my security. I see now that it was a mistake to ever let you out of your cell."

"Hindsight is twenty-twenty, Tom, but you cannot change the past."

"You intrigue me, Harry Potter," he states. "One of such luck, power, and innovation... I will relish when this affair is over and you finally stand by my side... the things we will accomplish!"

"You are foolish to presume that I'll ever stand by your side. I said it once and I will say it again: I will never join you."

He sneers. " _You_ are the fool, and always have been one. You did not even kill your own Voldemort; how can you expect to kill me, master of this reality? What hope do you have?"

He flicks his wand upwards, and I suddenly feel the oppressive weight of his aura. "I am as close to a god as one can get, Harry Potter. Say your final words."

"Fuck you, Voldemort."

" _Expelliarmus!_ " he shouts, and I wonder at the choice of spell, until I feel the tug on my wand _even as he cast_.

" _Avada Kedavra!_ " I yell back, realizing the irony of this reversal of my first true duel. They meet at the middle and connect in a golden beam of light.

His eyes widen. "Impossible! There is only one wand that can do this - it was destroyed, long ago!"

There is no way I can keep this up. Voldemort is simply too powerful for me to offer any sort of magical resistance. But I remember a statement he made, long ago. He fears Legilimency, fears the mental prowess of all versions of me.

Phoenix song bolsters my resolve. "No," I grunt. "There is only one _person_ who can do this."

His eyes narrow. "You lie," he claims, and he stares right into my eyes. I feel our minds merge as he takes the bait.

My memories play through quickly, like the images on a spinning movie reel, from the first time I can really remember with the Dursleys, inexorably heading toward the present.

Years pass, and I go to Hogwarts, meet the other Voldemort, face trials and tribulations that a teenager should never have to. Then the war starts, and we quickly arrive at the summoning. I desperately try to resist and counterattack, only managing to slow down the constant flashing of images. The cell, the hallway, the lunchroom. The halls, and then the magical sterilization room. The memories become clearer and clearer, and play through in real time.

Had we done this near the beginning of my jaunt through this reality, I may have had some sort of chance. But I am too weak. It is not even the physical stress which hampers my mind, but the emotional and psychological stress which weakens me, makes me unable to defend or offend. Voldemort, despite his evil, is ingenious: his seemingly foolish decision to release me from my cell and the subsequent series of trials did wear me down more than solitary reflection, which might increase my resolve, could.

I'm looking through Harry's diary, and a single word sticks out at me, before fading into the jumble of memories that come later as Voldemort increases his onslaught. Sacrifice. Yes, I had sacrificed so much, lost so much, as had every single Harry Potter of this dimension - they lost their free will and suffered years of constant servitude to this beast. And now Voldemort is overpowering my final gambit and will eliminate eternally all hope of opposition.

Then we reach the conversation with my loved ones, and I feel incredible fury and rage, and the pain in my head increases to a maximum.

I barely feel the explosive discharge of the Priori Incantatem breaking down and the impact on the floor. I vaguely hear Voldemort rise from the ground.

I grip my wand, and the echo of a hopeful song, of a beautiful song, gives me courage.

" _Diffindo,_ " I whisper, and the skin of my left thumb splits open, my hand on the floor at the edge of the circle.

"At long last," he breathes. "I have found you, Harry Potter. I am done with keeping you alive. Turn and face your death!"

A single droplet of blood drips onto the runes, and the entire circle lights up, crackling with energy.

"Impossible!" he exclaims, incredulous for the second time today. "Only I can control the ritual circle!"

"I am you, in a certain sense," I chuckle, tapping my forehead. "Those damn Horcruxes."

" _Avada Kedavra!_ "

The bolt of green light comes shooting at me. _Take me somewhere else,_ I wish silently. _Take me to a better place._

It impacts me, but instead of the sweet release of death the entire world converts into a deep magenta hue, and my scar burns unbearably once more. Voldemort begins screaming, a sharp keening sound.

I appreciate better than before the richness of the magenta, despite its nonexistence as a color of light. Poetic, in a sense, that a color that marks the absence of others would be a catalyst of death. Before my eyes, striating bands of varying darkness slowly decompose the walls around us.

This time, rather than preserving the participants of the ritual, the tunnel of purple slowly tears my clothes and wand to pieces, before beginning to disintegrate my body as Voldemort and the reality around us crumble into nonbeing. I laugh hysterically, triumphant, until oblivion finally consumes me.


End file.
